


Practice Makes Perfect

by Ulalume



Category: Star Wars: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 06:48:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1735115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulalume/pseuds/Ulalume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smuggler Akamai takes aim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practice Makes Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't yet posted the story that this references but it’s not a pleasant one for my sweet Akamai. He’s a gentle (if wily) creature, and he’s been badly hurt in the past.
> 
> Written for the prompt: Akamai - a person they used to know.
> 
> (http://deathcupcake.tumblr.com/post/70538820090/kyr-a-situation-from-their-past-vyolet-why-they)

Akamai hefted the blaster in his hand as he paced down the corridor towards the cargo bay. It wasn’t a fancy one; just an old model that he preferred to anything new. It was low tech enough, the dull metal pieces so expertly crafted, that it required minimal upkeep. He had modified it slightly, after one drunken shopping excursion on Nar Shaddaa, exchanging the original grip for an exotic wood inlay (credits already paid, he figured he might as well). It was, he hoped, completely unremarkable, discouraging questions.

Akamai preferred avoiding questions.

Someday, he might upgrade the weapon with a DNA safety and a scope with more than the basic functions, but he kept putting that off.

He slowed his pace as he reached the cargo bay, fingers running over the scratches on the barrel, the gash on the grip. Each mark held a memory — some even non-violent, but there were a few his brain refused to acknowledge, consciousness sliding from those memories like water pooling away from a repellant.

Akamai pulled down his goggles and stepped to the target line, lifting his arms to take aim. He sighted down the barrel, inhaling the heavy scent of oil that wafted at him as the ship’s filtration system kicked into its cycle. He shifted his gaze from the gun towards the target on the far wall, taking in the scorch marks where someone else’s shots had gone wide to hit the non-reinforced bulkhead.

His eyes settled on the guide and he stilled, his trembling lekku the only indication of his agitation. Akamai tried never to think about that year, that memory of betrayal that lived deep in his bones. Here, however, he let that anguish fuel his concentration.

He took careful aim, thumb flicking the power on with ease. His palm tingled as the hum of the power cell grew stronger, fingers reflexively gripped tight as he calculated final adjustments.

The Twi’lek dragged a breath in through his teeth, sharp edges glinting as he grimaced. Eyes narrowed and hand steady, he pulled the trigger. Flashes of light pulsed just before the high pitched sounds echoed through the bay. Three blasts, that was all.

Akamai holstered his blaster.

Across the room, smoke wafted from the guide image, which featured three of his former crew. Each head was destroyed.


End file.
